


Sitcom in Which Certain Lines are Crossed Out

by picarats



Category: WandaVision (TV), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: 1990s, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Episode: s01e05 On a Very Special Episode..., Found Family, Gen, Multi-Era, Post-X-Men: Dark Phoenix (2019), Quite Literally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29339754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picarats/pseuds/picarats
Summary: When one of the students at Xavier's — whose powers include manipulation of TV signals — accidentally turns the channel over to a show that doesn’t exist, Peter Maximoff isn't surewhatto think. Then he finds himselftrappedin said show, so, yeah; he’s pretty sure that this whole 'WandaVision' situation sucks majorly.Now he just needs to find a way out: if he can, of course. It's hard finding yourself rooted to the spot when all you want to do is run…(Canon-compliant to 1x05: A Very Special Episode. COMPLETE.)
Relationships: Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & X-Men Team
Comments: 66
Kudos: 468





	1. from one foot to the other

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything. Title adapted from one of Richard Siken's poems — Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out.

Peter loves teaching and he also loves being a mutant, but the thing about working at a mutant school is that some of the kids… tend to need a little bit more attention so they don’t, like, immediately cease to function. Case in point: it’s 3am, it’s a weeknight and it’s Peter’s turn on the rota — thanks, Scott, for being so team-obsessed that you made one for the teacher’s lounge — to check on Ben, whose power seems to involve insomnia and turning over the television signal with a blink.

So he grabs a Red Bull — hey, with his metabolism it’ll wear off by 3:30 — gets the eye drops just in case the little dude’s settled on a show, takes the high five that he’s offered and sits down. It’s going to be a long night.

It turns out that Ben _has_ chosen something to keep watching, which is both awesome for the guy — something-something power control — and absolutely terrible for Peter’s maybe-ADHD: turns out, though, this sitcom is absolutely off-the-walls weird enough to keep even him entertained for a bit.

It’s called _WandaVision,_ and it’s about this lady and her husband, except that the lady is a witch and the husband is a robot. The style is totally 70s, which Peter knows because of the clothing and also because plots with people that had powers went mysteriously out of style in the media once the world got a hold of that one time when Raven almost assassinated Reagan.

(Try saying _that_ — Raven, Reagan, Raven, Reagan— three times fast. Or slow, depending on whether you’re a speed demon like him.)

This episode’s all about having a baby, so, of course, Wanda — that’s the lady — and her powers are going haywire… there are a _lot_ of jokes about fruit, especially ‘papaya’, which is probably a word that 8-year olds find as funny as he does, so he turns to Ben, laughing — and then he catches the kid _blinking_.

“I can’t change it over,” Ben says, apologetically, as if, whoa, Peter’s not witnessing something that shouldn’t be happening. He’s definitely not ill — mutant powers tend to get even more out of control, like that Wanda chick, when that happens for real — but he’s not okay, either. “I don’t even think it’s a show at all.”

His response? Peter just thinks, as loudly as he can — _Jean._

Jean, Scott, Storm and Beast — because this is a team meeting, after all — meet Peter and Ben where they already are, which is the television room. Beast goes to Ben’s side to check him over; Storm moves to the window, to try and clear any interference from the weather outside; Scott stands next to him as they both watch Jean approach the TV, hand outstretched, trying to track whatever signal has hi-jacked Ben’s mutant power.

“It might be nothing,” Peter says to him, and even as he does he knows it isn’t true. World-ending things are the only things that happen in the middle of the night to the X-Men.

“It’s never nothing,” Storm murmurs, now at his right. And just like that, Jean breathes in sharply — the television fizzles out. Well, it’s more like a firework, Peter thinks — almost Jubilee worthy. _It’s never nothing_.  
  


* * *

  
Scott takes Ben back to the dorms, so it’s just the four of them that end up in the X-Basement. (“…We are _not_ calling it that,” Peter can remember Storm laughing after one too many late-night beers in the kitchen, but he’d eventually won that argument by bringing up the fact that he’d lived in his Mom’s basement for 10 years so he had basement-calling rights. Go, unemployment!)

Here’s the thing: they’re all barely-functioning adults, apart from Beast, who’s been a nerd for the past 47 years and looks 20 and Jean, who’s got some age-old Phoenix in her head or something. So when Jean says, “I think that signal is coming from another universe, because whatever it is, it’s definitely not this one,” and Beast is like, “Big time,” Peter just thinks: _so this is what we’re doing now? Far out._

Truth be told, Peter zones out when they’re hashing out the final details of whatever it is they’re planning: when he comes back into the room, Jean has that fire in her eyes that she had when she came back from the dead and she’s looking directly at him.

“If you run fast enough,” she’s saying, “I think you could go and investigate.” Then, because no _duh_ Peter can’t run to another universe, she says, “With a little bit of help,” and her hands literally crackle with that power from _Something Else._

Peter nods. He’s a little terrified, but he nods. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” he says. “Or something.”  
  


* * *

  
Storm’s agreed to take over Peter’s PE class, because she’s really been itching to teach the students some self-defense, which is one worry from his mind. Jean says that she’s going to try and keep a connection with him in whatever place he ends up and then answers his unknown question by tapping her temple. Scott gives him a weird-ass pep-talk, which doesn’t land, and Beast gives him a hug, which does.

Here’s another wrinkle in the overall fabric of things: he might not come back and the fact that he hasn’t told Magneto that he’s his son has pretty much morphed into a massive in-joke with the team, which would be funny if it weren’t so sad.

The lowdown: he’s all dressed in his X-Men outfit (that Beast’s spent the whole night tinkering with for the journey) and it’s just him and Jean on the football field — with the rest of them stood far away in the bleachers — so he turns to Jean and says, “If I don’t make it, will you tell my dad?”

“You’ll make it,” Jean says, clasps him on the shoulder — and it feels like fire’s blooming from his shoulder throughout his entire body, holy _shit_ , is this what it’s like to be her — and suddenly Peter’s off, he’s blitzing across the field, running, running, running home free, baby, _whoa_ … _FUCK, OH GOD_ —  
  


* * *

  
Pietro Maximoff stands still outside of his sister’s house, perfectly poised. His hands are rigidly at his sides. He presses the doorbell, bemused, and waits.

— _What am I doing? I want to run — why can’t I move — where am I? Jersey? Looks like where I grew up, exactly like it, actually — it looks like the 80s. Why can’t I_ move? _Jean? Jean! Jean, can you hear me? I can’t speak, I can’t move! Hello? — HELLO —_

He rings the door bell again. Wanda comes to the door this time. She looks shocked to see him. Why? Shouldn’t she be happy? She’s his twin.

This is a problem. This makes him lean forward, contort his face into a grin and say, “Long-lost-bro get to squeeze his stinkin’ sister to death or what?”

“Pietro?” Wanda asks. She’s crying. She shouldn’t cry. That’s not right. He has to stop it, or he’ll — he has to — thank God, they hug. Back on script.

“Who’s the popsicle?” Pietro finds himself asking. And he doesn’t say, _DOES ANYBODY COPY — Help, PLEASE — I CAN’T SPEAK — I CAN’T FEEL MY LEGS — I can’t feel anything at ALL._ Why would he? The people are laughing in the background. He’s doing the right thing. He holds his position and waits for the next line.

_— Jean? — Witch lady? — PROFESSOR? — ANYONE? — HELLO? —_

Any time now.


	2. inside your head you hear a phone ringing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick timeline check:
> 
> \- Dark Phoenix takes place in 1992 and the X-Men side of this fic takes place three years later, in 1995.
> 
> \- WandaVision is multi-era, but, as the MCU part is set three weeks after Endgame, it's reasonable to believe that it takes place in 2023.

Since she saw the recast, Darcy has both obtained coffee and managed to keep the guy that got her the coffee _there_ until she could show him exactly what the fuck’s just happened. The coffee guy is her fellow binge-watcher — okay, skipping the _rest_ of the titles she’s made up for him in her head, it’s Jimmy — and, judging by the way his reaction was to get Monica and tell her, too, she’s pretty sure she’s not alone in being so freaked out she needs to tell someone.

Monica pretty much takes it in stride, but Darcy can tell that she’s also freaked, because who _wouldn’t_ be; Jimmy immediately starts trying to put together a dossier for the new guy; Darcy puts the kibosh on that immediately.

“We don’t need any extra attention on this,” she says. “He could be a friendly. Or an unfriendly. Maybe we should let it play out.”

“I’m not keeping anyone in the Hex —” _yes,_ Darcy thinks victoriously — “after what Wanda did to me. No way. That guy could be just as trapped as the rest of them,” Monica stresses.

Jimmy nods. “Also, and I don’t want to emphasise this too little, Pietro Two —” he points at the screen — “looks _nothing_ like ‘original flavour’ Pietro. Hayward may be a dick, but he’s not stupid.”

Darcy can’t help but agree. “We could throw a blanket over the TV,” she says, anyway; it’s in her nature to disagree, at least a little bit. “Set everything on fire?”

 _“After_ we get everyone out,” Monica says, but she’s smiling now. Jimmy grins, too. The Sitcom Mystery Gang, back in action, Darcy thinks; now it’s time to investigate. (Her favourite.)

* * *

  
Pietro exists to move. He exists to play his part and he does it just as well as the other actors in this scene, even better, because Vision seems like he doesn’t know his lines and the director — Wanda — is ‘baller’, totally ‘tubular’, but she’s pretty much just standing there, not knowing what to do. So Pietro follows the script as much as he can to help them out. He gets to meet his nephews — Billy and Tommy, who are improv geniuses — and he gets to tell them a rote story about his journey from Sokovia.

The people laugh at the right parts. He’s safe.

 _— Fuck this,_ Peter thinks, mildly, because he’s pretty much been able to think nothing else for the past thirty minutes, give or take; he can’t move, he can’t say what he wants to, it’s the freaking 1980s, Jean’s telepathic link is just not _there_ and, the worst thing: this lady isn’t even his sister. He’s not a twin, has never been a twin — he has a younger sister, _way_ younger, Rosie, and then there was Nina, even though he never met her — but he’s never, ever had a Wanda in the family. And what’s with _Pietro?_ (It sounds like the kind of name that his dad would’ve given him, if he’d had known about him.) _Genuinely, FUCK this shit —_

Pietro then goes to bed.

There’s a spare room upstairs that Peter’s _sure_ wasn’t there in the episode he’d watched with Ben — there’s a Murphy bed on the wall that folds out, and Peter takes the time that his body spends taking the mustard yellow pillows off of the couch part to think over the timeline a little bit more.

It had been the 70s before, on the TV at the Mansion, so something had obviously changed during their overnight prep for the journey. Wanda’s got powers, mutant-esque powers, even, like, maybe _omega level_ or whatever Beast called it these days: he had to invent a new category for Jean, after all, when she’d come back. If they’d really time travelled, Wanda would definitely belong with that dork (said lovingly, so Peter didn’t get his eyebrows singed off by a fire bird).

And yeah, if they’d _really_ time travelled, it also kinda made sense that Jean wasn’t rattling around in his head: she’d’ve been, what? A teenager? Helping his dad rebuild the school after it got absolutely wasted by Apocalypse? It made sense — but Peter didn’t have to like it, or, like, even lump it. He’d just have to wait.  
  


* * *

  
When Pietro sleeps, Peter stays awake, still trapped behind closed eyes, still swearing in his head, still trying to figure out what’s going on, still wishing he’d paid a little more attention to the program when he’d been watching it with the kid and still — above all else — wanting to peace out of this whole entire thing. He’s still awake, not even dreaming, just doing laps over and over in his brain, coming up with PE lessons for his students in the meantime that don’t involve the Fitnessgram Pacer Test because apparently he’s the only one that enjoys it. Go figure — he’s a runner.

He’s so in his own head that he doesn’t even notice that he has control over his own body when he wakes up.

Peter’s neck feels funny; he’s definitely slept on it weird, he thinks — and hauls himself to a sitting position, going about as slow and groggy as he can handle at this time of the morning, which is about when he realises that his threads aren’t what he’d been wearing when Pietro had gone to bed. No time to chill, so Peter does the only thing that pretty much makes sense and jumps like he’s watching a bad horror movie, finally noticing that he’s in control again from the way the bed bounces back.

He’s wearing normal clothes, stuff _he’d_ pick out, but definitely not anything he’s physically copped from his trips across the world with the X-Men — markets in Cairo after they’d helped with the rebuilding, California thrift shops when he’d picked Bobby Drake up after a bad Thanksgiving, the times he’d ran up to the mainland near Genosha before talking himself out of seeing his dad. Peter’s not a style guru by any means, but, judging by the way the broadcast had been set up as a 70’s sitcom and he’d landed in the 80s, he’s sure that means it’s the 90s now. And if it’s the 90s…

 _Jean? Are you there?_ Peter thinks, deliberately; he’s trying to clear his mind as best as possible, trying to remember the advice the Professor had given the team when they’d first started out in order to make sure their powers complimented each other the best they could — _clear your mind, the point between rage and serenity_ —

 _— Peter!_ Jean returns, sounding the most relieved he’s ever heard her and kind of totally bugged out, which is probably a sign the whole body-snatching and connection-loss thing wasn’t just terrifying on his end. _I’m so sorry, I lost the telepathic link completely — one second, I’ll go get the rest of the team._ It feels like she’s left the room; Peter supposes she’s changed whatever frequency she’s using, or whatever. _They’re coming. We’ve only just managed to get the signal back with Ben’s help. We thought you were…_

 _Dead,_ Peter finishes. God, he might as well be, he decides, peeking through the net curtains at the Stepford-looking town outside — kids walking their dogs, neighbours saying hello to each other on the street, a man kissing his wife goodbye at the door with a briefcase in hand. Everything was almost too copacetic. _Hey, don’t even go there,_ he adds, trying to get across a jokey attitude he’s not really feeling _. I’m pretty good at running away from my problems, life-threatening or not._

He can’t hear her laughter, but he's pretty sure that she _is_ laughing. That's good enough for Peter.  
  


* * *

_  
I told your dad,_ Jean says, as he trudges down the stairs. _Uh, he’s on his way over from Genosha. So’s the Professor._

Shit. The complete 411: he’d forgotten that he’d asked her to tell him if they thought he wasn’t coming back, and, yeah, Peter was glad that Jean had kept to it, but he’d kind of wanted to be the one to tell Magneto that it was a boy. Eventually. _What did you tell him?_

 _That we’d lost you,_ Storm’s voice comes, sounding as if she’d only been fully patched into the conversation at the very end of the sentence. It comes across like she’s out-of-breath, as if she’d been running, which — well, she’s kind of his best friend, and he’d run to see her if she’d come back from the dead, so no judgement by him. _Nothing else — I’d want the news about a secret son broken to me in person, after all._

“Who are you talking to?”

Peter’s head swivels around, human-quick, but fast enough to nearly whack his head on the kitchen archway anyway. It’s Billy, standing there in his pajamas, holding a little bulldog plush, arms crossed. Something shifts in the air, like when he’s at the movie theatre and the curtains open a little bit more before the show.

“Myself, kiddo,” he says, unable to get rid of all of the uncle-tone from his voice. Here’s the thing — Peter knows they’re not related and he knows that Wanda isn’t his sister at all, but he’s seen pictures of Erik when he was a little kid courtesy of Mystique and Billy’s the absolute spitting image.

“I could hear you,” Billy insists. “And your friend. A girl’s voice,” he adds.

A telepath? The show on the TV hadn’t even touched on mutants at _all_. But if Peter's trying to keep a low profile so he can figure out what's going on, he's going to have to lie, even if he doesn't like the idea of it at all.

So, “Oh!” Peter says, as if he actually knows what the next thing that’s going to come out of his mouth is. “I was on the phone with my friend, uh, Ororo. She works at the school I work at. Who’s the dog?”

“Ororo,” Billy tries out, smiles. “His name’s Lojack. Our other dog died.”

Then he frowns. Peter’s messed up, he has, somehow, because that feeling of dread that he could feel Pietro actively avoid is back, harsh cold biting at the back of his neck.

“And Mom said you were ‘travelling’,” Billy pronounces, finally. “Around the world.”

“Uh,” Peter says, “well —”

Suddenly, Billy turns slightly, looks at some grey, far-off point in the distance and says, “Why would Mom lie to me? It’s not as if being a teacher isn’t cool! Well, it kind of isn’t, but Uncle Pietro’s cool _anyway_. I’d want him for my Math teacher instead of old Ms. _Howell_.”

Peter’s barely given enough time to process what’s just happened when his world shifts to the side — _holy shit — wait —_ Billy’s sat in class, and Tommy’s sat right next to him, and they’re wearing matching sweaters for some reason, and QUADRATIC is written in cursive at the front, barely legible, and none of the other kids are moving or even making one single sound, and there’s a woman, with tightly curled gray hair, dragging her nails down the blackboard and, and, and — _what the actual hell — I can’t even see myself, where AM I —_ and Peter’s back in the kitchen, bent over the table, wheezing, colour only just filtering back into his vision.   
  
It feels like he’s been sucker-punched in the brain.

There’s a pair of hands at his shoulders; Peter can’t hear anything apart from the blood-rush in his ears, but he can feel the connection he has to Jean and the rest of the X-Men falter slightly, enveloped by something darker. Wanda Maximoff. She’s saying something to Billy. He can’t tell what, or what’s what, for the _life_ of him. And Billy’s crying, and he’s asking her to fix it, fix _him,_ and then —

“Go back to bed, Billy. I’ll make sure Uncle Pietro’s okay.”

“Should I get Dad?”

“No, _draga mea_. Mommy can sort it out. Don’t worry.”

* * *

_I told your dad,_ Jean says, as he trudges down the stairs. _Uh, he’s on his way over from Genosha. So’s the Professor._

Shit. The complete 411: he’d forgotten that he’d asked her to tell him if they thought he wasn’t coming back, and, yeah, Peter was glad that Jean had kept to it, but he’d kind of wanted to be the one to tell Magneto that it was a boy. Eventually. _What did you tell him?_

 _That we’d lost you,_ Storm says. _I’d want the news about a secret son broken to me in person, after all._ Aw _, that’s cute. Billy just spoke to the camera._

Peter opens a carton of milk from the fridge and drinks it straight, which is half because he figures that’s what local deadbeat uncle Pietro Maximoff would do and half because he himself is that lazy. _Where?_

 _He was right next to you,_ Storm replies, sounding confused. _I mean, you just talked to him. There was a little flash-back and everything. Didn’t you see it?_

“Morning,” a voice says behind him. Peter manages not to hit his head on the kitchen arch as he turns to see Wanda Maximoff, _not_ his sister, holding a cup of coffee. “I was downstairs already, if you’re wondering how you didn’t hear me. I’m not as fast as _you_.”

“I feel like that’s a competition I’ll win always and forever, little sister,” Peter says, unable to keep the teasing tone from his voice. “I’m fast, you’re weird.” It’s exactly the kind of thing he’d say to Rosie, but he’s not surprised. He’s never been the best actor, not even when Scott asked him to play a tree in their tiny production of ‘Les Misérables’, a musical that Peter still doesn’t understand the plotline of two years later.

(Why would _anyone_ write so many time jumps? Oh, and whose idea was it, in the first place, to have _Logan_ play Valjean instead of one of the kids? He’s betting Beast. The guy always seems like he’s one jump away from an ‘I Want’ song, anyway.)

“Like I didn’t see that one coming,” Wanda returns. She pauses for a second; he can feel Jean and Storm waiting in his head, as if they’re holding their breath, trying to stay silent. “I was thinking that you could go with Vision to the company today. You know, see what you could do with a real job.”

Peter opens his mouth, but he’s interrupted by Tommy zooming into the kitchen, as close to his own speed as a non-mutant could get.

“Uncle Peter _has_ a real job,” he says, reaching into the cookie jar. “Billy said.”

Wanda opens her hand for the cookie. “It’s breakfast,” she reminds, not unkindly. Tommy gives it to her, looking all for the world as if Peter didn’t just see him stuff another one in his pocket. If he let himself chillax, Peter could see himself almost forgetting that this shit is straight up ‘Twilight Zone’. Al- _most_. “Did he now?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, sitting at the table. He grabs an orange, starts to peel it. “Uncle Peter’s a teacher.”

“No he’s not,” Wanda says. She turns to Peter, expectantly, almost as if she’s wanting him to correct Tommy, when — well, Peter’s not sure when Billy found out about all that, or from who, but — he’s right. “No, you’re not. And your uncle’s name is _Pietro_ , not Peter.”

“Actually,” Peter says, feeling like he should say something, anything, because the atmosphere has changed and it’s somehow really, really hard to breathe. “Peter’s fine. _Pietro’s_ a little hard to say, besides. It’s a specialist school, in upstate New York. Gifted kids. I teach PE.”

 _Peter, are you sure about this?_ he can hear Scott ask, somewhere in the part of the back of his mind that’s getting busier and harder to cope the more people that are there. _If something goes wrong…_

There’s still a him-shaped hole in the middle of it all, too — he’s going to need a lot of time alone after this all is over, Peter thinks. Maybe he’ll go live in the Canadian wilderness for a couple of years, like Logan did after they flew the French flag for the last performance. _I need a little bit of myself in this, Scott, or I might actually go insane._

“PE,” Wanda repeats. She looks as if she’s about to cry, almost, except — well, what reason for that could there be? How hard has Peter screwed the pooch this time? “Peter. Alright,” she says. “Well, you could go with Viz despite that. New experiences, you know?”

Well, Peter _has_ never worked in an office before, unless you count his teacher’s one, which Peter _absolutely_ doesn’t because he’s pretty sure most offices don’t have stolen arcade cabinets and a window that’s constantly open because no-one comes to his office and he’s not smoking weed in a closed room after _that_ hotboxing incident with Storm and Jubilee.

“Why doesn’t Peter tell us what he wants to do?” Vision — Mr. Traffic Light himself — says, looking incredibly human for a guy that usually rocks the red look.

Peter wonders if it’s at all like Mystique’s power had been; he can’t help but smile, even though it’s tinged with that mourning sadness that he hasn’t entirely been able to get rid of for the past three years. He’s learned, now, to separate the good times from what came after. But that doesn’t make it any easier, though, and Peter knows that.

There’s a lull in conversation, coloured by some kind of tension between Wanda and Vision. Should he be talking? Probably. “I thought I could take them down to the record store,” Peter ventures-slash-makes up on the spot. “Show them what good music is.”

Vision laughs. “We know what good music is,” he says. “We listen to the radio all the time!”

“Really,” Peter says, crossing his arms. He really doesn’t mean to be such a purist, but when you have your headphones on near 24/7, it’s hard not to be. “What’s your favourite band?”

“I —” Vision says, and then stops. He looks directly at Wanda. “I don’t know,” he answers, placid and stone cold as fuck. “How about _you_ ,” he says, messing with Tommy’s hair — Tommy squawks — “Billy, and Uncle Pietro go and pick some out, and then we can decide?”

“Sounds good,” Peter says. He’s not going to correct Vision on his name after the reaction he got from Wanda — he’s been trapped in his body, screaming out, awake, locked-in and wanting to split for about ten hours and he, weirdly, _doesn’t_ want that happening again. “Sounds good.”

* * *

They’re only just out the door when Jean finally explodes with what she’s been waiting to say.

 _Peter, it’s her,_ she impresses. _Wanda. I could feel her when you saw her — she’s like me, what I can do, except — she’s not a mutant. She’s something different. Close, but — stronger. She’s_ doing _this._

Peter slips into the driver’s seat of the car, makes sure the kids are buckled up — he’s the fun uncle, but he’s still bothered about driving safety. Billy is looking straight at him when he checks the mirror — almost as if he can _hear_ him. Peter’s not that paranoid, though. The only powers he’s seen have been Wanda and Vision’s, and he hasn’t even seen theirs in person.

 _Doing what?_ he asks, adjusting the seat.

 _She’s controlling all of it,_ Jean says. _Everything you’re seeing. All of Westview — you — it’s big. It’s_ all _Wanda._

 _Everything the light touches, Simba,_ Peter thinks. Then he actually thinks about it, the scale of it, and — _Holy shit. Could_ you _—_

 _I don’t know_ anyone _that could take over an entire town,_ Jean replies, grimly. _I didn't, until now. Just hang tight, okay?_

 _Easier said than done,_ Peter thinks. “Okay. Let’s rock and roll,” he says, aloud, finally reversing out.

…Billy is _still_ staring at him. (Peter’s trying to ignore it. He likes being a teacher, but some little kids are _creepy_.)  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Stepford Wives is a 1975 thriller film based on the book of the same name, centring around a town where life is flawlessly idyllic to the point of horror.
> 
> 'Draga mea' means sweetheart in Romanian, and appears in the Sokovian lullaby Wanda sings to the twins in Episode 3.
> 
> Les Misérables is a musical about the French Revolution and was first performed in English in 1985, based on the book of the same name.
> 
> The Lion King, the Disney musical, was released in 1994, one year before this fic takes place.


	3. dear forgiveness, I saved a plate for you

Personally, Peter’s of the opinion that Nirvana’s version of _The Man Who Sold the World_ is the best one, but he’s enough of a Bowie fan to not hate the original when it comes on the radio in the store. 

He’s not exactly sure when in the 90s he’s ended up — every time he’s tried to look over at the newspaper on the counter, Agnes (Wanda’s neighbour, apparently, a stone fox, full of stories that don’t seem to fit with this decade and the owner of the store) rests her arms on the date — but Peter’s got a plan about how to find out.

“Sad about Cobain, huh?” he asks Agnes, leaning back with his arms on the worktop, keeping one eye on the kids in the records section and another on her face. Agnes looks confused for a second — face-wise, that is. There’s something behind her eyes; she’s scared, or trapped, or… God, had what happened to him happened to everyone else in this crazy scene?

Agnes smiles. It doesn’t reach her ears, metaphorically, because damn, she’s doing everything she should to keep him guessing and at ease. Playing her part, like Pietro did. 

“Yeah,” she says, taking the newspaper off of the top. _Damn,_ Peter thinks. “We’ve got the Foo Fighters, now, right? No music out, yet, though. I just can’t wait to see what they come out with! My husband Ralph thinks Dave Grohl’s just cashing in on the whole tragedy, but he claims to have man-flu every time my mother comes into town, so — ha!”

 _Right_ , Peter thinks. It had to be 1994, because when he was from, they’d already come out with their self-titled album, Grohl saying that he’d written it whilst recovering from the death of Cobain. It’s kind of reassuring — and strange — to _almost_ be in his own time, in a place where the rules were so different and The Man isn’t the police or the government or the Sentinel program but a housewife that thinks he’s her big brother. 

Then again, though — no-one had really known about the Foo Fighters until this summer, so — some kind of future knowledge? Was she from 1995, too?

Peter clears his throat. “What did you think about _I’ll Stick Around,_ if you catch my drift _?”_

“What?”

“ _I’ll Stick Around,”_ Peter impresses. “Second single from the album?”

“They haven’t come out with any music yet,” Agnes repeats herself, after a second. She pauses. “Pietro, you can’t say —”

* * *

  
  
“— Woah, the signal’s gone super fuzzy,” Darcy says, leaning towards the laptop-television set-up in front of her; she clicks her mouse a couple of times to absolutely zero effect. They’ve gotten to the bit where Pietro 2’s taken the kids to the store, her, Jimmy and Monica, and then — well, Pietro had started talking to the neighbour and _Nirvana_ had come up and then — _nada_. “Monica?”

Monica, closest to the old CRT, scoots over and slaps the side of it. _“I’ll Stick Around,_ ” Pietro 2 is saying. _“Second single from the album?”_

Jimmy frowns. “Isn’t it 1994? In the show, at least?”

He’s right, Darcy remembers. Hayward ordered them to put together a timeline, which had made bingeing TV into work — something that she definitely hadn’t appreciated — which ended up pretty much solidifying the fact that, even though WandaVision’s set design pulls from across the decade, its references tend to only go up to around the middle. She’s theorising that nostalgia’s stronger the older it gets: by sticking to the first half of the ten years, Wanda’s more likely to stay in Westview with the good memories than to leave.

That’s only if Darcy stays under the assumption that Wanda’s as trapped as the rest of them. It’s looking more and more likely that she’s the ringmaster. But she trusts Monica — and if Monica says that Wanda’s a victim, Darcy’s not going to argue. 

She turns to Jimmy. “So?”

“So,” Jimmy says, “ _I’ll Stick Around_ is a Foo Fighters song. It came out in _1995_.”

Monica frowns. “You’re sure?”

“He’s right,” Darcy says, looking up from her phone. “It’s an anachronism. Pietro 2’s not sticking to the script — he’s testing out the boundaries. Almost as if he’s not sure how far he can go.”

Jimmy pauses, pen hovering over his notes. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Darcy summarises, “that I don’t think he’s as unaware of what’s going on as everyone else seems to be. Ladies and gentlemen,” she adds, pointing to Pietro 2’s figure on the laptop, “meet our first free agent in Westview. Well, second, considering Vision —”

* * *

  
  
— Whatever Agnes is about to say, she’s interrupted by Billy and Tommy finally deciding what they want to get: Weezer’s self-titled for the latter (the Blue Album) and the former picking up Bowie’s _Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust._ When Peter hands them over to pay with the sitcom Monopoly-money he’s found almost magically in his back pocket, he realises that some songs have been omitted entirely from the back of the sleeve, which is — sacrilege, to say the least.

 _Maybe they couldn’t pay to use all of the songs,_ Storm suggests, her voice light. _Copyright._

Peter frowns. _They?_

 _The people that run the sitcom,_ Beast says. (Everyone’s here now, rattling around Peter’s old head; he’s thinking of charging for rent.) _Who, as I’m saying that, I remember is — Wanda. So…_

 _Sitcom antics in a place that shouldn’t be televised,_ Peter summarises. _Got it._

 _Have you?_ Scott asks. It probably shouldn’t sound as condescending as it is, but Scott is both a grade-A stickler and genuinely concerned: the mix is something that Peter would get more annoyed at, if he didn’t try and actively kid himself that he’s the Yoda mentor-guy and Scott respects him, like, a lot more than he shows. 

(…This is absolutely a self-lie, because _Beast_ is the mentor-guy and Scott respects Peter as much as any other member of the team. They’d die for each other, but Peter’s pretty sure that he’d die of boredom first.)

They get around halfway down Main Street when Peter feels a tug on his sleeve: Tommy’s the one standing next to him, Billy trailing behind. 

“He can hear her,” Tommy says, point-blank, pointing backwards, stubby thumb aimed at the older — younger? — twin. (Unlike most of the siblings he’s met and considering that Peter is, in fact a sibling, Billy and Tommy’s worries seem to lie less with the ever-losing competition of who’s the eldest and more with the general weirdness of Westview. Peter doesn’t blame them.) “The lady. Them.”

“Them —” Peter pauses, quickly decides that whatever Tommy’s saying, the kid is most likely not faking him out — kids tended to tell the truth, unless they had a reason to lie, or weren’t doing it for a joke — scrambles for the right words and, because he’s Peter Maximoff, finds them at the last millisecond mark. “In here? In my head?”

 _A telepath?_ Well, if his Mom could do _this_ to Westview…

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Take a chill pill, Uncle Pietro,” he says — and even though the kid’s not related to him, like, at all, Peter could swear he was looking right in a funhouse mirror. “It’s not as if you’re being quiet. At least, that’s what baby bro says.” 

“I’m older,” Billy pipes up. “By a minute!”

“Well, I’m smarter,” Tommy shoots back. “And I’m faster!”

“Guys —”

Before Peter can, like, physically separate them from getting in whatever the pre-teen equivalent of a fight with Apocalypse is (more hair-pulling, seeing as though that dude was _bald)_ they’re challenging each other to a race. Billy bursts past them both, but it’s Tommy that takes the lead — and he absolutely _books_ it at a speed that makes even Peter’s eyes hurt as they readjust to, well, the km/h _he_ goes when he’s _running_ running. The kid’s _mutant_ fast. 

He’s _Peter_ fast.

“Huh,” Peter says, to himself, as the dust settles. “Okay.”

* * *

  
  
As soon as they get back home — not _home, Peter, stop, fuckin’, letting yourself fall into the sitcom trap,_ home _is in_ Westchester _with two actual human gods, a werewolf nerd, a guy with laser eyes who is also a nerd, Jubilee and three hundred students who can’t do PE, FUCK, man —_ the three of them offer up their record-store finds for Wanda and Vision’s approval. The dude’s a little concerned about the Parental Advisory sticker on Billy’s LP, but Wanda’s happy, like, crying-happy, proud, even — something to do with them being ‘real American records’ (ignoring the fact that Bowie’s a Brit), so Peter’s pretty much winning in this crapsack _WandaVision_ world.

Weezer gets both sides played, A and B; _Ziggy Stardust_ gets only the first, with a promise to listen to the rest of it tomorrow — it’s getting late and the kids need to go to bed, because apparently it’s a school night. Even though they spent the whole day at the store and Peter hasn’t seen either of them touch any homework. It’s whatever, Peter thinks.

So Peter’s chowing down some leftovers at the kitchen table, pretty much in his own head, thank God, when Wanda raises her voice: “Viz, do you want to pass me the remote?”

“I don’t want to watch TV tonight, Wanda,” Vision returns — voice still raw, leaving whatever it is that’s been causing tension since Peter arrived as Pietro out in the cold open. “I’m going to bed.”

“Viz —”

Vision’s footsteps disappear overhead. Peter gives it a couple of agonising seconds before he pops his head through the open kitchen arch. “I’ll watch TV with you,” he says.

 _Peter,_ Jean warns.

 _I know what I’m doing,_ Peter returns.

Wanda deliberates for a second — obviously, she hasn’t planned for him, at this hour, holding a plate of lasagne — _Colonel Mustard in the library with a lead pipe —_ but here Peter is, and whatever it is she’s watching is about to start. 

“‘Married with Children’,” she says. “It’s a favourite.”

Peter dumps himself down, as gracefully as he can stand, next to her. “I love this show,” he says. “Wait, am I allowed to eat on this couch?”

Wanda laughs, but Peter can tell it’s not because he’s broken the ice: she sounds terse, on edge. “ _Gott_ ,” she says, sounding more like his Dad than she’d ever know. If Wanda has a Pietro, he wonders, does she have an Erik Lenhsherr, too? “You don’t even _look_ like him.”

Peter swallows. “You mean Pietro?” he ventures. One wrong step…

“…He was my twin,” Wanda says. 

Her American accent — once a drawl like his — is fading with every word, an older one seeping in instead, colours over bland sepia. Peter’s reminded of his dad, again, but he’s also thinking now about his Mom — and his grandparents on her side from the Old Country, from Sokovia, how they’d dote more on Rosie than him and she’d come out sounding more Eastern Bloc than Jersey every time. It’s like that, only stronger.

“I have a sister,” Peter fills in. “I know it’s not the same, though. I’m sorry.”

“Years ago.” Wanda shakes her head. There’s grief, wound tight, behind her eyes. She turns down the TV, the air fraught. “What’s her name? What’s yours?”

“Rosie,” Peter says. “My name’s Peter. Peter Maximoff. I’m not from around here. Not even this world.”

“Maximoff,” Wanda says, after a moment. “Me too. And Pietro. Your father — was his name Django?”

Peter shakes his head. 

“Erik Lehnsherr,” he says. “But he was never really there for me, not the way you want a dad to be, ‘cause, well, he never really found out about me and he still doesn’t know ‘cause I’ve never told him. Plus, he was charged with the murder of JFK, so — yeah, just me and my sister and my Mom. Marya Maximoff.”

“My mother’s name was Marya,” Wanda says. She pauses. “And your father didn’t kill JFK; Bucky Barnes did.”

Peter blinks, thrown off. _What?_ “Who the hell is Bucky?”

“You’re really not from around here, are you?”

“Depends. Where’s here?”

Wanda swallows. “I didn’t mean to do it,” she starts, which immediately tells Peter that whatever she’s about to admit is worth the shadow of shame that’s suddenly cast over her face. “It just happened.”

“Tell me,” Peter prompts, gently.

“When Thanos arrived,” Wanda says, folding her hands in her lap, “no one was prepared for it. Viz and I — _we_ weren’t prepared for any of the things that were coming our way. I can’t quite remember — the Avengers,” she says, almost tripping over her words, “were broken up. We were weak. It was my fault.”

Peter shakes his head. “Why —”

“I levelled a building in Lagos,” Wanda says, evenly. “Civilians died. Too many.”

Oh.

Not for the first time, Peter thinks about the death toll from the fight in Genosha, the one against the aliens, the one against Apocalypse and, well — he thinks mostly about Raven and Alex Summers. To hold yourself personally accountable for one life, like he does with Alex, is difficult, the months of therapy after not even being close to enough; to hold yourself accountable for tens, maybe even hundreds — the lowdown: Peter can’t comprehend it at all.

“Then Thanos came looking for the Infinity Stones. Vision has one, right here —” Wanda taps her forehead, an outline of yellow faintly dancing over her skin. “I saved him, but Thanos rewound time —” _Okay, what the actual fuck — “_ and took him from me. Then he took everyone and me. We came back five years later — to a different world. I had _no one_.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the lamp flickering: not off-and-on, but through eras. For a second, it’s a pull-string lampshade in complete black-and-white. Peter angles himself so she can’t see it; it’s probably for the best if Wanda concentrates on the story and doesn’t end up throwing them all back to the 1950s.

“I don’t remember what happened,” Wanda continues, voice tighter, “but the next thing I know, I’m at the dining table. Viz’s boss is — choking. I tell him to do something, so he does. He phases his hand through the neck and gets the food out. I start to remember things, but I don’t like them.”

“So you put them in a box,” Peter says, remembering Jean. “And then it explodes out. It always explodes out.”

“Exactly,” says Wanda. “Exactly.”

They talk into the night, which is surprising for someone of Peter’s concentration levels, but — and here’s the thing — he kind of can get where she’s coming from. 

… _Not_ from stuff he’s done, but Wanda’s got the kind of loss like Erik has, powers on the level of someone like Jean and the kind of control issues he’s seen, over and _over_ again, at the School. Wanda might not be a mutant entirely — Peter gets the feeling that ‘mutant’ isn’t a thing here — but she’s a mutant like him in every way that matters. And she needs help; everyone in this town needs help, but Peter just _knows_ it can’t be all Wanda’s fault. He’s a teacher, after all. He can recognise the kind of stuff his students go through in what she’s saying.

And whoever Thanos was — Peter thinks that maybe he’s their version of Apocalypse — he obviously did a number, wiping — _holy hell_ — half of the entire universe out.

“Tommy told you I worked at a school, right?”

Wanda nods, then shakes her head. “Billy,” she says. “Not in this universe, though.”

Peter files that last bit away to react to later. He’s been doing a lot of that, lately. 

“Okay,” he says. “It’s a school for people like you and me. Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters — we tried to change the name to the Jean Grey School for Higher Learning last year, but then Jean came back from the dead and thought it was an awful idea, which is — not important. Uh. What _is_ important is that — the kids’ve got powers, haven’t they?”

Wanda tenses, then steels her gaze. She flicks her wrist, deft. Her hand pulses with red-purple energy, like she’s forming the air into something else that Peter can’t quite name. 

“You are _not_ taking my children,” she says. “I will _kill_ you before you even think to do so.” 

“No, no, no, that is _so_ not what I meant,” Peter blusters, waving his hands in a super-speed enhanced version of a surrender. Wanda doesn’t exactly, like, let it go, but her own hands go out and he can see her eyes widen, slightly, at the movement. Peter very suddenly realises that it’s the first time she’s seen his mutation. “I just… One second. Jean?”

_I’m here._

Peter holds out his hand. Wanda takes it. 

The skinny: there’s a mental shift, molecular but safe in a way that makes Peter only bothered by the weird _deja vu_ he’s feeling, and — 

— He’s standing in the doorway of the entertainment room with a Red Bull in his hand, eyes adjusting. Jean’s sat on the couch where he’d been with Ben, with her hands in Wanda’s; they almost look like sisters. The television is playing snow-static: _WandaVision_ is nowhere to be seen.

“This is so cool,” Peter says, interrupting the flow of whatever probably awesome conversation they’re having about being two redheads with insane powers. (The only people that share Peter’s hair colour smell like mothballs and aniseed, so he’s immediately jealous.) “Dude, I literally just wanted you to explain better than I could. How are you even doing this?”

“I guess I was in your head,” Jean says, “and all I did was tug you over to mine; you’re not actually here,” she clarifies, as if she hasn’t already broken the laws of physics. (Peter never really cared about them in the first place, so zero loss.) “Anyway, what’s a better way to explain than to show?”

Well, Peter can’t argue with _that_.

Wanda blinks, as if she’s noticing the Mansion for the first time. It’s a sight to behold, really, the Xavier house: according to Beast, the Professor’s Mom had it moved from England, brick-by-brick. (Then it had been subsequently destroyed and rebuilt.) Peter’s still a little fond of the ol’ Casa del Basement, but he can’t deny that the Mansion has its own sweet spots as well.

“Why do you think,” Wanda starts, rises from her seat. Stops, starts again. She’s careful with her words, Peter’s noticed; careful, because, he thinks, they may carry more meaning than normal ones. “How do you think _this_ will change my mind?”

“Control,” says Jean. “It comes with time. I know that first-hand; so do you. Billy and Tommy need training. You need training and a place to go where you’re not wanted by the law. It isn’t just a school. It’s a safe space.”

“I do _not_ need a ‘safe space’,” Wanda says, voice crackling with power. Jean’s face falters. “And I _do_ not —”

 _Okay_ , it’s definitely Peter’s time to step in. 

“Uh, I do,” he says, raising his free hand. (He’s pretty sure that just toasting her with a Red Bull is a bad idea.) “And so do the other people in Westview. I mean, if they feel the same way I did — trapped in their own heads, going through the motions — they’ll need time to recover. Time to be free. Wanda, this isn’t just your choice.”

“It should be!” Wanda shouts. “It should be! After all that happened — after Vision died — after my parents — after Pietro! After all I told you, I deserve to make my choice!”

“And you _did_ ,” Peter returns. His heart might be twisted up in knots, but his mind’s in control: he’s had years of practice with mutant kids going through trauma, rejected by their parents or even accidentally killing them the moment they got their powers. (It’s a story that’s all too common.) “But are you happy?”

“Yes!”

“At peace?” Peter presses.

“It is _none_ of your business,” Wanda spits, but Peter knows he’s got her; _omission’s just as bad as a flat-out lie,_ as his Mom says. “You should _leave._ I’ll make you, like Geraldine —”

_— Geraldine?_

“Wanda,” Jean interrupts. “You should _be_ at _peace_. You know we’re right,” she adds. “I can tell. I’m a telepath, like you.”

“There is no one like me,” Wanda says. It’s heavy with the truth. “ _No_ one.”

“A lot of our students are unique,” Jean says, matter-of-fact. “Kitty Pryde can walk through walls; Bobby Drake can make ice out of thin air. One of our students, Ben? He tuned into your show from a universe away using his mind without trying. We’re called mutants. We’re stronger together and we only _get_ stronger from learning control. Your kids can learn that. _You_ can learn that. I _promise_ you.”

“How do you _know_?”

“When I was a girl, I learned how,” Jean says. “And then I had to learn it again, last year, when I came into contact with more power than I could ever have dreamed and kept too much of it. Now I teach others like my teachers did me. Our entire teaching staff is the same way. And there’s a nation of us too — Genosha,” she adds, “lead by Erik Lehnsherr. _Thousands_ of us across the entire world.”

“Erik,” Wanda repeats, looking at Peter. “Your father. You should tell him the next time you see him,” she says. “If I could have another moment with my father…”

Before Peter can respond to that in a way that’s thought out, and, like, sane, Jean’s head snaps up. 

“Erik’s here, at the mansion,” she says, to Peter. “I forgot. Kurt brought them here, like, an hour ago. I think if I do the same thing I did to you with Kurt — he’s seen the TV show — he can get to Westview, get you back to us. And Erik wants to go with him; so does the Professor.”

“So, everyone except my actual team,” Peter says. “Totally feeling the love right now.”

“No, I’m coming,” Jean says. “I’ve been in your head for the past day. I need some fresh air.”

Peter squints. “Don’t you guys have classes to teach, or…?”

“I have one request,” Wanda says, haltingly. “I would like to say goodbye. SWORD took Vision from me, refused to let me cremate him. I took him anyway, his remains and cremated them — and left to Westview, to where we hoped we’d build a home, to spread his ashes. The Vision that you see isn’t him, not entirely,” she clarifies, in such a way that Peter can tell how hard this is to admit. “When I got my powers, a part of the Mind Stone made its home in me. When _WandaVision_ started, it made a copy of him. The first Vision is already gone; my husband will go when the show does. It will kill me, but I have to do it. I know that now.”

“…Yeah,” Peter says, taking all of that in. “We can do that. Does that mean —”

“Yes,” says Wanda. “We’re coming with you.”

* * *

  
  
Darcy is currently curled into a pretzel shape on the bed in her shitty motel room. She’s trying to ignore the phone. It’s 6 in the morning. She’s allowed.

She’d flopped onto it two hours ago, after a long day trying to figure out who, exactly, Pietro 2 was. The only match the Sitcom Mystery Gang had found, face-wise, was Ralph Bohner— an actor who had only come up after Jimmy had the idea to plug some of the unknown faces into IMDB. _WandaVision_ was a TV show, after all. (No dice: Bohner’s currently shooting a pilot for some horror show in Los Angeles, apparently. Darcy’s happy for him.)

The landline’s ringing, but she’s been awake for forty-two hours and the coffee and candy’s starting to both wear off. SWORD’s got more astrophysicists than CERN: they could do without Darcy Lewis for a hot minute. Plus, if it were really important, Monica or someone would come to wake her up —

— There’s someone banging on the door. Darcy wants to kill the world.

“ _Darcy_ ,” Monica is saying. “You need to get up.”

“Nope,” says Darcy. “Rest.” She’s not up to multiple syllables yet — at least, not out loud. “Bye.”

There’s a tell-tale jiggling of a handle, the sound of a lock being picked. “A couple of SWORD’s internal alarms started sounding,” Monica says. “Something’s changing — physically — within the Hex. We can’t see _anything_ on the TVs; we can’t get into the Anomaly, either. Woo’s running point back at the base, but —”

Darcy swings the door inwards. “Wanda’s taking it down,” she finishes, as Monica stands, looking harried. “She’s leaving Westview, isn’t she?”

Monica nods. “We don’t know why,” she says, “but, to be honest? That’s our best guess so far.”

“Okay, then,” Darcy says, pulling on her beanie. (She hadn’t been bothered enough to change out of her work clothes when she’d flopped into bed.) “Don’t suppose you’ve got a cup of coffee hidden up your sleeve?” 

Monica shakes her head. “Woo’s the magician,” she says. “You’ll get a headache if you have any more. Maybe you could get in a nap on the way over?” 

Darcy rubs her eyes, tucks her hair behind her ears, slips on her glasses. “You are my favourite person,” she says, “but keep in mind I worked with Dr. Foster. Coffee’s a part of _any_ good scientist’s diet.”

“I refuse to believe that,” Monica says. She’s probably right, Darcy knows. Jane’s habits _had_ left a lot to be desired, even if they did eventually lead to hunky Thor-ness. “And _I’m_ an astronaut. Come on.”

 _Series finale time,_ Darcy thinks, grimly, grabbing her keys. 

* * *

  
  
Peter loves his team and he also loves seeing other people using their powers, but the thing about waiting for both things to show up is that the kids you wait with… tend to get bored enough that you have to, like, invent games to keep them entertained. Case in point: it’s 6am, the sun’s just starting to rise and Billy and Tommy are running around, exhausting each other out after Peter suggested they race.

They’re standing in the yard — Peter checking his watch every 2.5 seconds, Wanda’s with the urn of Vision’s ashes in her hands; her and Vision — Westview Vision — had said goodbye ten minutes ago, a private moment after which Wanda came out of the house looking shattered but strong, Vision standing at the window. The kids had hugged their dad, too and Peter had suddenly been struck with the thought that in the same sitch, he hadn’t taken the chance. Magneto’s always been a second thought, a shadow — even though the guy doesn’t know Peter’s his son, it’s pretty clear that they’re almost strangers.

If he hadn’t broken him out of prison, would they even know each other at all?

As if on cue, a spark of fire spits out of thin air, ash floating down onto the sidewalk. There’s another one and then — Wanda’s hands tremble, almost dropping the urn (Peter catches it, which is score one for super-speed), because Jean and Kurt are ripping a hole between two worlds with their own bare hands, her eyes bright with flame and, if Peter can feel it, he can be damn sure Wanda can. 

And just as suddenly, the four of them have popped into existence — Jean (looking badass), the Professor (looking tan, from his half-year in Genosha), Kurt (looking worse for wear, with Jean’s power racing through his veins — did Peter look the same way?) and Magneto. 

Erik. His dad. Yup.

“Hey,” says Jean, walking towards him.

“Hey, dude,” says Peter, but he quickly realises that it’s not directed at him: Jean’s greeting Wanda like an old friend. _Mutants who universe-bend together stick together,_ he thinks. _Or mutat_ eds _._ He’s not quite sure.

Luckily, the Professor intercepts the greeting — he glides towards them, Peter and the twins, all guiding light principal-like. “You must be Tommy,” he says, easily reading the kid’s mind, what with it going a million miles an hour like Peter’s own. “And _you_ are…”

“Billy,” says Billy, promptly. “And you’re the Professor. I heard Uncle Peter say it,” he explains, ignoring — or just not aware — that Peter hadn’t exactly said it out loud, really. “What’s a ‘mutant’?”

“I have a feeling you’ll fit in just fine,” the Professor says. He starts to explain about genetics and shit leaping forward every hundred years or so, which has never, on record, been something Peter’s remotely interested in, so he meanders his way towards his dad. 

…The guy’s looking both confused and like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s fiddling with his wallet, even.

Peter can relate.

“What is,” Erik says, “all of this?” He waves a gloved hand — he’s in full ‘Magnet Man’ costume — at the sitcom stuff all about him and _especially_ at the mailbox that says, in cursive, _The Maximoffs_.

“Uh, Wanda’s grief,” he says, vaguely. “Uh, she lost her parents and her brother and her country and her husband and half the universe, so — I mean, understandable. That’s Wanda,” he points out. “She’s my alternate-universe twin sister and those guys —” Billy and Tommy, who are now talking to Kurt about Pokémon or something — “are my alternate-twin nephews. I think that’s right.”

He knows he’s lost Erik somewhere around the multiple worlds bullshit, but Peter can tell he’s latched onto the loss part, just like he thought he would. “I should talk to her,” he says.

Peter starts to nod and then remembers Wanda’s advice — he probably shouldn’t piss her off. And it’s for the best, really. “I’m your son,” he says. “Now you know the deal.”

 _That_ stops Erik. “What?”

“Have been, for like, thirty-ish years,” Peter says, because he couldn’t stop his mouth if he tried. “Cool, right?”

Erik furrows his brow, opens his mouth — shuts it and repeats that for a couple of seconds. _He’s officially broken Magneto,_ Peter thinks. “I didn’t know you knew,” he decides on, finally.

Whatever Peter had been expecting, it hadn’t been that. 

“Okay, man, you’re gonna need to elaborate,” he says, “before I file for abandonment dues.” Shit, _wrong_ joke to make — man, Erik looks fuckin’ _crestfallen_. “Uh, sorry, dude. Joke, I swear.”

Erik raises an eyebrow, but that’s a typical Erik-move, so Peter’s pretty sure he’s in the clear.

“When you broke me out of prison,” he says, “you mentioned to me that your mother knew a man that could manipulate metal as I could. A mutant’s power often is unique, or resembles a close family member’s own.” Peter’s thoughts drift to Tommy, as fast as he is — or as fast as Pietro Maximoff _was_. “If there was any chance that part of my family survived… it took me years to realise that it was me you were talking about. When we next met, you acted as if it was not. I never knew you knew. Who would want me for a father?”

 _Who would want_ me _for a son?_

“…You’re an idiot,” Peter says, and then adds, without stopping for breath, “I’m an idiot. We’re both idiots. It’s fine.”

“It is?”

Peter shrugs. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “I mean, I’ve survived this long without one. I’d like to get to know you better, Pops, but we both have things going on. We can see how we go,” he decides, eventually. “That sound good?”

Erik nods. His eyes flick over to Wanda, his not-quite-really-though-daughter. “I really should —”

“ _Go_ ,” Peter says. “You guys have a lot in common, anyway.”

Before either of them can move, though, Jean’s authoritative voice cuts through. “We have to get going,” she says, apologetically. “We can talk more at the mansion.”

Wanda nods. “I’ll undo it all,” she says, her hands flickering. “Just —”

“— Before you do,” a British voice sounds out behind them, “I’d like to say a final goodbye, if that’s alright?”

Peter turns. It’s Vision, standing at the door — he’s holding the two records, Weezer and Bowie, in his hands. Wanda’s hands falter as he approaches her, sets them down on the grass. He cups her face, and —

— And Peter’s _sure_ it’s the most romantic kiss of all time, but he still turns his and the kids’ heads away. He’s not a creep and he’s certain that seeing their parents kiss combined with one of them disappearing forever is a traumatic event above any other.

Whilst he’s looking away, Peter can see the grass wither backwards, the sand of the lot spill out over the mud. The garden fence collapses over itself and then into the yard, splintering into dust. The street-lamps flicker and rust, but not before changing completely — he realises he’s getting a glimpse of a future, whether he likes it or not. _Eat your heart out, Marty McFly._

Sirens are echoing in the distance. 

“My audience,” Wanda says, resolve back in her voice. When she steps forward, Vision’s not there anymore, not following her: Peter knew he’d disappear, but it’s harder seeing her without him. They’re still WandaVision, after everything. “Every good show needs one. Shall we go?”

“All ready,” Kurt says, holding out his hands. They flicker with Jean’s power. Peter takes one; Erik holds Peter’s other, with his own left holding Tommy’s. Wanda’s in-between him and Billy — Peter can’t crane his neck to see where the Professor and Jean are, but he assumes they’re on the other side. Mutantkind and Crew: ‘it’s Good to Hold Hands, Sometimes’.

Kurt closes his eyes. Wanda breathes in, sharply. Peter feels a tug at his navel, and then — 

(— _Home_.)

* * *

  
  
When Darcy arrives at the SWORD base, she can see exactly what’s happened. It’s hard not to. There’s no Hex anymore. The supports are supporting nothing, the barrier useless.

They venture through the town like they’re going through a movie lot, her and the Sitcom Gang and a group of jackbooted thugs with guns and superiority complexes. (They peel away from them quickly.) The townspeople aren’t crying. They’re mulling about as if they’re in a daze, but they’re not crying. Darcy supposes it makes sense: they’re processing what’s just happened to them and also having to reprocess the Blip at the same time. 

She can’t imagine how that would feel.

Monica can, though, so she stays with the main effort to try and talk to the people of Westview. Jimmy and her split off to go to the Maximoff house, half-because no one’s been there yet and half-because Darcy really wants to see it after all that time watching the show.

The house isn’t actually there anymore. It’s a blank lot — any trace of Wanda and Vision’s story is gone. Well, not exactly: two records are laid haphazardly on the sidewalk and there’s a small rectangle of card — a _business_ card — a couple of metres away. It looks dog eared but shiny, new but like it’s fallen out of a wallet and been stepped on.

“You know, we made a good team,” Jimmy’s saying, as she bends over to pick it up. “I’m gonna miss this. Well, not _this_ exactly, but —”

“— You might not have to,” Darcy says, handing the card over. “Look at this.”

CHARLES XAVIER

XAVIER’S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED YOUNGSTERS

WESTCHESTER COUNTY, NY

555-312-9951

“I don’t get it,” Jimmy says. “What, a school?”

Darcy tries to find her voice. “The school closed down in 2006, after this guy died,” she says, carefully, pointing out the name — Charles Xavier — on the card. “But this card is new. _I_ should know,” she adds. “I went there.”

Jimmy puts the card in a plastic evidence bag. “So…”

“So, I don’t know,” she admits, putting her hands in her pockets. “I don’t want to tell Hayward, because that guy’s a grade-A asshole. But it _could_ be something to look into.”

“Well,” Jimmy says, just as measured, “technically, SWORD didn’t find it. We did,” he points out. “Law of jurisdiction, right?”

“Law of ‘dibs’, too,” Darcy says. “Wanna keep this thing going?” Maybe they’ll binge-watch _Dog Cops_ whilst trying to figure it out, she thinks. _Get Monica in on the action, too_.

Jimmy grins. “I thought you’d never ask,” he says. “… _Gifted Youngsters,_ huh?”

“Yeah,” Darcy says, absently crossing her arms. She looks at the sunrise, orange just trickling over the horizon. “Probably not the kind of ‘gifted’ you’re thinking of, though.” 

* * *

  
  
(Wanda doesn’t decide to spread Vision’s ashes in their universe’s Westview like she originally planned — instead, Peter helps to organise a service for him far out in the School’s grounds. Most of the students attend: Billy and Tommy are, as the Professor predicted, an absolute _hit_ with the other kids — enough to make Peter wonder what he’d be like if he’d been the first Maximoff student at the School — so some of them come as their moral support.

(The others come to shoulder their new Media teacher.

(Ben, in particular, has been taken under Ms Maximoff’s wing — she’s always perfectly happy to be the one spending the nights he stays awake flipping through channels by his side. Peter’s noticed that they watch way more sitcoms now. He’s just glad he’s getting his beauty sleep.

(There’s a small Maximoff family get-together when they break up for the summer, so Peter invites both Wanda and the twins _and_ Erik — he’s only really expecting Billy and Tommy to come as the other two tend to keep to themselves, but suddenly he’s sat at the loudest garden table _ever_ with Rosie, his Mom, his grandparents along with Wanda, Tommy, Erik _and_ Billy all wedged onto two benches. It’s awkward until it’s not between his parents, but soon they’re laughing — they all are.

(And his Grandma absolutely _loves_ Wanda — they have a full on conversation in Sokovian — and Rosie makes a couple of jokes about not being the favourite any more which has his Grandpa full-on belly-laughing. The lowdown is that half of them aren’t even related — but Peter can look at Wanda and see Rosie’s laughter lines, think about how much Tommy looks like Peter’s Grandpa, listen to Erik speak and can’t help but compare it to the way Billy chooses his words.

(They play Nirvana and old Sokovian bootleg music until the sun goes down and even after, when they have dinner and make portions for those that can't be with them — Nina, Nina's Mom, Pietro, Vision, the other Vision, Erik's parents, Wanda's parents, Raven. Peter absolutely does _not_ cry at that last one. There's no space for Alex, but Peter thinks about him anyway.

( _Thank you,_ Wanda says, on their way back to Westchester. And the thing is, Peter’s thankful for his family — as weird as it’s become — too.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt Cobain was the late lead singer of the 90s band Nirvana. Dave Grohl was the drummer for the band, and late founded the Foo Fighters after Cobain's death.
> 
> The 'Blue Album' is a nickname for Weezer's self-titled first album, which came out in 1994. The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars is an album by David Bowie, which came out in 1972. 
> 
> 'Dog Cops' is a fictional TV show, invented by comic book writer Matt Fraction for the 2012 run of Hawkeye. It is a sitcom about dogs who are cops.
> 
> Marty McFly is the main character of the 1985 time-travel film Back to the Future.
> 
> The phone number given for Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters is the same one used as a 'mutant hotline' during a viral marketing campaign for X-Men: Apocalypse, albeit with the area code changed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3


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